Ravens and Hawks
by plecko
Summary: Randi Avery Valiente, 17, is a winged girl with no memories of how or what she is doing. But when SHIELD recruits her, her whole life changes, maybe for better, maybe for worse. Before/During Avengers. Movie Verse, Hawkeye/OC, a bit of Natasha/Bucky. Rated T for a bit of language. I'm bad at summaries.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, so, this is my first official fanfic, starring Randi Avery Valiente and Clint Barton. I'm kinda excited, because I've never done this before. I like helpful tips and suggestions :)

* * *

**Ravens and Hawks**

I stretch my wings into the night sky, testing the breeze. With a jump, I fall through the city air, opening my raven-black wings to catch the wind. I weave my way in and out of the skyscrapers, the mirrored buildings.

_I love these nights,_ I think. Summer nights are the best. The streets aren't cold, and you don't have to fight for a vent to sleep on. People are more welcoming and generous, and it's just better overall. Yes, summer is the best season.

Taking a vertical path, I fly high above the 57-story Comcast building, the lights and cars looking like fireflies. Then I attempt to remember for the billionth time.

_My name is Randi Valiente. I am 17 years old. I'm being followed. I have wings. I can fly. I have no family, _I think to myself. I haven't any family that I know of. The only other person I can remember at all is a guy I met a couple years back. He said his name was Clint, Clint Barton, and that he was 22. He bought me a nice dinner and gave me $1000 so I could try to start a life. Ha, if only he knew.

For the 1460th-something day I fly around the city, practice throwing knives in peoples' rooftop gardens, and for the 1460th-something time the bleeding sky of dawn sends me back to my "nest", my little place of safety.

I count and check what little possessions I own, my assortment of (stolen) knives and food and clothes. Nothing's missing, so I settle down for some shut eye.

* * *

-Randi Valiente-

8:30ish A.M., same day

With careful hands, I style my short-cropped hair into its usual faux-hawk in a subway bathroom. Stole the hair gel a month back from some hair place.

I shrug into one of my old jackets that effectively hides my wings and in worn, hole-y boots I step around the . . . assortment of . . . items . . . on the bathroom floor.

_Humans are disgusting,_ I think and pull a face. I nudge open the grimy door and blend with the masses.

I don't really have a destination, just looking for something to do, and so a few hours later I have a new wallet, a couple packs of gum, and a new switchblade. Now I'm looking for an Ipod. If I get one I can go to a library and plug it in, get a few songs. Something to fill the quiet hours of my days. I'm sitting in a mall food court and planning my strategy when I see them.

Four men in black suits, not mall cops, all have wires in their ears and dark sunglasses. They seem to have stations and are blocking my exit points. I've walked around this mall for a while, and this is the first time they've appeared. I'm immediately suspicious, and I zoom in my vision to each of their faces.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. I have freakishly acute hearing and over-perfect vision. Yes, now I did. Well, I can see each man's face closely and clearly, and can hear what they hear in their earpieces. Some man is asking if "the target" is present.

So, as casually as I can, I stand up and walk behind a group of tall guys and exit through an "Employees Only" door. Behind the mall now, I run randomly around the city and once I determine I'm isolated, I take off. I know it's dangerous to fly during the day, when people can see me, but I need to move.

I land at my nest, grab all the food I have and shove it into my backpack. Then I put on my black arm gloves and tuck short knives into the hidden sheaths. The rest of the knives I slip into slots in my boots or pants, hoping they don't fall through any holes. Then, I glide a couple buildings over to the shiny Comcast building and wait.

Shortly after, I see a large black SUV pull up to the building I had lived on top of for about four years. The same four men, plus another, get out of the car and all take the quickest of glances to the top of the building. I zoom in my vision and focus my hearing.

One of them, a shorter man with a receding hairline, is talking to who I guess to be the manager or owner of my past residency.

"I'm Agent Coulson with SHIELD. We need to investigate a security threat. May we have a look around?" Ah. So he's an agent. Agent Coulson holds up a badge, which, sadly is at an angle I can't see. The manager nods and lets the agents inside. Once I'm positive they won't be able to see me, I take off in the opposite direction, and for once I actually have a destination. Goodbye Philadelphia, hello New York.

* * *

-Randi Valiente-

I've been living in New York for about two weeks, and I must say, it's truly the city that never sleeps. All day, all night, 24/7, cars and people have been on the streets, lights on in offices and homes, sirens wailing around the city. It's not really that bad, and I decide to stay a little longer, tucked inside the huge 'A' on the Stark Tower.

-Coulson-

"Did you find anything?" I ask Agent Barton through the earpiece. I've sent him to look for our next target, Randi, 17, unknown family, not dangerous. She is seen as a possible ally by Director Fury, leader of SHIELD.

"No, sir," Barton says back. "She's tricky. Not even a feather around." Damnit. Then I have an idea.

"Barton! Meet me at Stark Tower," I tell the archer.

"Yessir."

* * *

-Clint Barton-

As I make my way to Stark's Tower, I think about my current target. I met her a couple of years ago in Philadelphia while on a quick mission. She was 15, if I remember right. Gave her $1000 and a meal, wished her good luck. Never even suspected she had wings; just thought she was really wary. But when Coulson showed me a picture of her from a security camera, I instantly recognized the faux-hawk.

"Clint Barton," I say my name into Jarvis, the computer that runs Stark Tower.

"Shall I inform Mr. Stark of your arrival?" the artificial intelligence asks in a slightly English accent.

"Sure," I shrug. "Is Coulson already here?"

"Yes, sir. Agent Coulson and Mr. Stark are upstairs. Agent Romanoff is also with them," I'm informed, and I groan. The last person I want to see is Natasha.

Nat and I have been fighting ever since James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky, was found alive. She'd chosen him over me, and it frustrates me over how. Just a simple note was given, not even delivered in person. At least Stark wasn't the messenger. Otherwise I'd have to shoot the messenger.

The elevator door opens and I step onto the black tiled floor. Coulson and Nat sit at the bar, and Stark is (big surprise) downing a glass of scotch.

"We're having Jarvis run a security check on both inside and outside the tower," Coulson tells me, getting right to the point.

"Uh, _you_ are having Jarvis do security," Stark interrupts.

"She could be in the tower as we speak," I say, and roll my eyes. They land on Nat. Coulson gets Stark to teach him how to use Stark technology. Coulson shoots me a look of good luck.

"Hi, Clint," Nat greets.

"Aren't you supposed to be with your boyfriend?" I start off sharply.

"He's not my boyfriend," the Widow shoots back.

"Not yet," I mutter, loud enough for her to hear. The look she gives me makes me expect flames to shoot from her fiery hair. She opens her mouth to speak when we're interrupted.

"'Kay, we know you're angry and stuff, but we've got something," Stark gestures with his head for us to come over. Me and a fuming Natasha walk into the next room, where a hologram of the Tower floats above a table. A blinking red dot is on the tower, in the middle of the 'A'.

"There's something there, and it's not just a pigeon," Coulson says, and Stark zooms in on the dot. "Barton, Romanoff, go check it out, but if it's her, don't hurt her. Just bring her inside."

* * *

-Randi Valiente-

The evening sun is calming and I prop my sweatshirt higher up between my wings. Then I hear a sound I've been dreading, the sound of a door unlocking. And footsteps, two pairs, I think. Shit. I'm packing everything back up when a voice calls out.

"Hey! I know you're there! It's Clint Barton!" Huh. Well, I never thought I'd see him again.

"Who's with you?" I call back, ready to fly away.

"I'm Natasha Romanoff," a female voice calls out.

"We aren't here to attack," Clint Barton's voice again. "Just to talk."

I guess he's alright. So I put my bag on my back and jump, making a sharp vertical turn once I have enough speed. I land on the helicopter pad in front of them. The woman, or Natasha Romanoff, is about the same height as me, five feet five inches, with long, flaming red hair.

"Hey, long time, no see," Clint gives a smile.

"Yeah. Didn't forget you," I return the smile, and for once I'm telling the truth.

"We should go inside," the redhead says, and turns on her heel. I shoot Clint a look and he nods, so I follow them inside.

"Hey! Did you find – Oh, hi!" A dark-haired man with a goatee pipes up. Tony Stark. Wow. "So you're the one hiding in my tower?" He looks at me, and I tuck my wings tighter into my back. The agent I saw in Philadelphia is here too.

"Uh, I guess. It's shelter," I shrug, hiding my embarrassment of being in front of a billionaire while homeless. Tony Stark shrugs.

"Got a name?" he asks. "Call me Tony. Oh, want a drink?"

"Sure. Name's Randi Valiente," I shrug. I've been drinking for as long as I can remember (well, not very long, if we're going to be literal here).

"Cool," he says, and hands me a glass.

"Stark, you can't . . . "– then the agent looks as if he remembers something – "Ah, nevermind." The man turns to me. "Hi. I'm Agent Coulson with SHIELD." He offers his hand. I shake it.

"Yeah, I remember you from Philly," I say, and take a sip of my drink, which I find out that it's a delightfully crisp apple cider.

"Why were you avoiding us?" Agent Coulson gets right to the point.

"Well, it's not like I'm going to let four guys in suits and earpieces just walk up to me, "I shoot.

"She's got a point," Tony pipes up.

"Stark, shut up," Clint says.

"Just putting in my two cents," Tony grumbles. Clint rolls his eyes.

"Well, how about I give you this" – Agent Coulson hands me a card – "and you can call us when you want to talk?"

"Alright," I say cautiously, and take off my backpack. I set down my drink and take the card, slipping it into the front pocket. Gulping the rest of my drink I make my way to the balcony.

"Thanks for the drink, Tony," I nod to him. Then to the agents, "Call you in three weeks."

I leap into the air, headed off with a new destination in mind.

* * *

-Randi Valiente-

"California? What the hell is she doing there?" I hear Tony's voice in the background and I smirk. Coulson sighs.

"We'll come pick you up, and we'll call when we're close," Coulson tells me through the phone.

"Alrighty," I say, and hang up. Ahh, California. Celebrities. Hollywood. Casinos. Beaches. Perfect weather for flying.

Join or not join SHIELD? Well, after extensive hacking, I mean, research, I found out where one of SHIELD's research facilities is. I paid a 'visit' and found that SHIELD stands for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. Jeez. Talk about a mouthful. Then I did a Google search. All the information was very shallow, just general descriptions about the agency and their objective. Otherwise not much, not even a phone number. Very secretive, too secretive, for my taste, but might as well try it out. I'll have somewhere to stay at least. But the name of the place is vaguely familiar.

About twenty minutes later, Coulson calls me and I'm told to fly up to the Hollywood sign. I do, and behind the huge letters there's an aircraft of some sort. I recognize Phil Coulson's face and land a few feet away.

"Good morning, Miss Valiente," Coulson greets.

"Decided I'll join your boy band after all," I smirk. Coulson gives a small smile.

"The others are waiting on the quinjet," he gestures for me to board. I give him a look, and he shrugs and steps onto the quinjet. What a weird word for a plane.

I shake out my wings and take a quick look around. Tony sits on one of the metal benches that line the walls, the redhead across from him. I keep forgetting her name. It's something Russian, I know that. Clint stands, leaning against the left wall. I stay standing.

The aircraft takes off, and we all sit in silence until Tony speaks up.

"What else do you do?" the genius asks straight out. "Are you cool like Bruce? The Hulk," he adds when I raise an eyebrow.

"Uh, I can fly, obviously," I begin to think of what I can say that won't hurt me later on. "Um, I can hear and see freakishly well, if that's considered cool. Hmm, I think I'm smart, if that doesn't sound too arrogant."

"Ha, are you kidding?" Clint laughs. "Stark's the king of arrogance."

"Hey, it's not arrogance if it's true," Tony puts up his hands. The redhead rolls her eyes.

"Come on, Stark," she scoffs. Then to me, "How do you fight?" Huh. Never got that question before.

"Fast, and in the air," I say, tucking my hands into my pockets.

"Where'd you learn to fight?" she persists. Her eyes tell me she knows something. I turn away, unable to answer.

The aircraft, no, quinjet, lands at a base, a complex, concrete military-looking place. Most of it looks like it's underground.

"Wow. Déjà-vu," I say quietly to myself.

"Agent Romanoff," Coulson calls to the redhead. Ah. So that's her name. "The file." Agent Romanoff walks off, heels tapping the cement floor. "Agent Barton, Miss Valiente, come with me. Mr. Stark, you do what you like."

"Cool," Tony says. "See you guys later." He heads off to who knows where.

Coulson takes us down underground to a large room filled with people and computers. Agents tap and speak into computers, creating a business-like tone.

"Director Fury," Coulson calls out.

"Agents Coulson." A large man turns around to face us. He has an eyepatch over his left eye and hasn't any hair. 'Director Fury' wears a black overcoat and heavy leather boots, and radiates authority. I raise an eyebrow. "Who do you have with you today?" His tone says he already knows who I am.

"Randi Valiente," I introduce myself. He nods. In the background I see Tony annoying some of the agents, trying to get them to play Galaga or something like that.

"I've heard a lot of things about you," the Director says. Oh really?

"Funny, because I haven't heard anything 'bout you. What have you heard?" I let some of my sharp tongue out. Coulson winces. Everyone seems so uptight here.

"You don't need to know anything about me, other than the fact that I am your new boss," the man says back. The Director then hands me a file from his jacket. "Here. This is what we know about you." I take the file and flip it open.

Inside is a picture of me, an old one at that: I don't have my hair up. In fact, I have long hair in the picture, and I look so much younger, maybe 14. And there's my name, my real name, Marie Evelyn Valiente.

"Where did you get this?" I ask quietly. I don't have any recollection of this, not SHIELD, not anything.

"You worked here before," Fury tells me. Now I'm wondering how old Fury really is.

The shock subsides, and I'm regaining my composure. I glance at Clint. He looks just as surprised as I am, with his eyebrows up in the middle of his forehead.

"What did I do? Like, when I worked here?" I ask.

"Field agent. You were stationed in Germany when you fell off our radar. We assumed you were captured and we cut you loose. Standard protocol," Fury explains. He tries to sound apologetic and fails. "You'll hear more later. You must be tired."

Actually I'm not tired, but it's clear that the Director doesn't wish to tell me anymore of my past.

"But," the Director continues. His pacing around is driving me nuts. "We've made some adjustments for you to get re-situated. Agent Barton will be your partner, and Agent Coulson your supervisor. Agent Coulson will oversee your progress, and Agent Barton will do your actual training." He gestures for Coulson to lead us to our rooms. I tuck the file under my jacket.

I lied. Not rooms. Room. Yes. Room. Sharing rooms wasn't what I had in mind, and it's not my number one idea after living in solitude for who knows how long. Apparently that's a very long time, if SHIELD's information is reliable, which so far it's been pretty believable.

"Get yourselves situated. Dinner is in the mess hall at six," Coulson says, obviously for my benefit, and leaves us in silence.

"So you're older than Rogers, huh?" Clint asks once the door clicks shut. I flop on one of the beds.

"Huh? Yeah, apparently so," I twitch a wing to get out a stray feather. "Don't remember any of World War II, though."

"Well, what _do _you remember?" Clint asks. I don't say anything, I just crease my eyebrows. "Well, I'm going to take a shower. You'll have that time to think." He gets up and heads to the bathroom.

_My name is Randi Avery Valiente. I'm seventeen years old. I have wings. I can fly. I worked at SHIELD before. My real name is Marie Evelyn Valiente._ Then I stop. This is all I know. I keep expecting to have a flashback or something, but I don't.

I haven't anything to say when Clint comes out of the bathroom. I can't help but blush when I see the towel wrapped loosely around his waist and his bare chest.

"Remember anything?" he runs his fingers through his damp hair.

"No, nothing," I sigh. "I want to have a flashback, like in the movies or something."

"You might. Anyway, it's 5:46. Want to head down to dinner? I bet it's spaghetti again." Clint pulls on a plain green tee-shirt – I can't help but notice how much it compliments his eyes – and black jeans and we head out to the mess hall.

* * *

-Clint Barton-

Knew it. Dinner is spaghetti again. But Randi's face lights up like a kid's on Christmas. When we sit down with our trays she eats like there's no tomorrow and keeps a wary eye.

"Jeez, slow down," I say. "You can always get more."

"Not where I'm from," she mumbles around a mouthful of pasta. She gets up to get some more spaghetti and I stare. I'm not the only one. It's strange enough to see someone with wings, let alone a girl with a faux hawk. But people stared at me when I joined; then again I was the strange one when I joined. Randi, I have to give her credit, ignores the gawking and walks back with confidence.

"So," Randi sets her tray on the table. "What else are we going to do today?"

"Um," I stammer. I didn't really plan anything. "How about I show you around a bit?"

"Cool," the girl agrees. Good, because I wouldn't want to do anything else.

We put our trays up together and I begin the tour.


	2. Chapter 2

-Randi Valiente-

Our tour lasted for a while, and now it's late, around eleven at night, and I'm wide awake. My nightly flights have made me a bit nocturnal, and my wings are itching to catch the air.

I'm not sure if Clint's really asleep and I don't want to be seen by security guards, so I stand on a chair and quietly take off the air vent cover. Then I heave myself up and scoot my way several feet until I see moonlight. Light equals outside, so I work my way out of the vent and take a deep breath of the crisp air.

A few minutes later I'm up in the air, over the deserts and the facility, enjoying the cool air. When I've had my stretch I land back on the roof, next to the vent I exited from. I unveil the file from my jacket and sit on the edge of the roof.

Name: Randi Avery Valiente (Marie Evelyn Valiente)

Sex: Female

DOB: January 7, 1925

Father: Steven Valiente, deceased

Mother: Unknown, thought deceased

Nationality: European American

That's all it says. I stare at the name Steven Valiente for a moment. So, I wasn't alone. I wish I could recall the memories. There isn't even a picture of Steven Valiente, so I'm not even able to get an idea of who he is.

"Hey." I've been so lost in thought I didn't even hear Clint approach. I snap the file shut and realize I have tears in my eyes.

"Hi," I greet, blinking as fast as I can. "Fancy meeting you here." He sits beside me.

"I come out here when I can't sleep, and when I noticed the vent cover missing, so I decided to investigate," the agent tells me. He nods toward the file in my hand.

"Yeah," I say. "Just a bit of late reading." I flip open the file again. "Guess I'm really . . . 86 years old." Clint whistles and raises his eyebrows.

"Woulda guessed otherwise," he says. "How'd you come up with 17 then? And Randi isn't your real name, is it?"

"Quit asking questions," I say sharply, then tell him anyway. "Didn't remember my name when I got here, but I saw it on a waitress's nametag. As for the age, I just took a random number. Then is was 13. Now it's 17. I could be the poster child for anti-aging makeup." We both laugh. "Alright. My turn."

"For what?" Clint asks.

"You asked me questions. It's my turn," I say. "Hmm, what's your job here?"

"Field agent. Well, some consider me a superhero," Clint chuckles. "My alias is Hawkeye. I use a bow and arrow for most of my missions."

"Nice. I couldn't ever use a bow. Too much to carry," I half-smile. "How'd you get sucked into this place?"

"My talent was noticed while I was at the circus – Yes, I grew up at a circus, don't laugh – and they recruited me," Clint tells me.

"A circus? Is that where you learned to shoot? Because I can't picture that real easily," I grin. Clint just smiles and shrugs.

"Last one. Are you and the redhead . . . y'know . . . together?" I ask. Clint sighs.

"Yes and no. Nat and I used to be really close, and then another agent was found alive. James Buchanan Barnes. Rogers' best friend back in World War Two. Steve Rogers, you'll meet him eventually," he adds when he sees my questioning look. "But yeah. She chose the guy over me . . . and so now we barely speak."

I nudge the agent. "You'll find someone eventually, I'm sure of it," I assure him. Then," I'm headed off for another quick flight. See you in the morning?" And with that, I'm up in the air, wings carrying me across the purple sky.

* * *

-Clint Barton-

Randi takes off, and I can't help but stare at her wings like before in the cafeteria. They're huge and black, and I can't help but with I had a pair. But I know the technology for that isn't up for grabs just yet.

I let my feet dangle off the building and run my fingers through my hair, reassessing what I said. It was and is completely against my nature, talking so freely with a person I barely know. But something about this girl, well, woman, that feels . . . welcoming.

I shake my head. _Come on, Hawk, get yourself together_, I think to myself and stand up. It's peaceful, quiet except for the faint growl of the patrol truck, but the sun persists in painting the sky red, so I head back inside.

-Clint Barton-

So, what are our plans for today?" Randi asks, taking a bite of waffle. Luckily for her, I've already planned something.

"We're going to check out your fighting skills," I tell her between bites of egg, over-easy with salt and pepper as always. The chefs have known me for so long, I don't even have to put and order; they already have it for me.

"Cool, like what and how?" my winged companion asks. She rolls her eyes when some of the other agents lean in to each others' ears. Guess her hearing is better than I thought.

"With the other agents. Hand-to-hand combat starts at nine." I was able to find an open-slot; you have to sign up to participate. It's a more popular training exercise around here.

"What should I do about my wings?" Randi's eyebrows crease.

"Just don't fly, or you'll be disqualified," I say. "Here are the rules . . ."

* * *

-Clint Barton-

"Randi Valiente!"

"Go up, he's calling you," I push the newbie forward. She winks at me and steps onto the mat. As I expected, everyone gawked at the short, slim girl with wings and a punk faux hawk.

"Jason Blake!" He's a muscular guy without much brain, yet anyone would root for him if this was a real fight. His friends whoop and shout, and someone sets up bets. Most of them are for Blake, as expected. I decide to put my bet.

"Think I'll go against the grain," I say to myself and head over. To them I say, "Twenty bucks says Randi will kick Blake's ass." I smirk when they raise their eyebrows skeptically.

"And, BEGIN!"

The two size up each other, a lion versus a housecat. Jason makes first move.

The trained agent lunges at the recruit, muscles rippling as he punches her in the face. I wince, and the crowd that has gathered "oohs". But then Randi grins. It's a little unsettling, seeing the new bruise on her cheek and a dark smile. I expected the blow to cut her face, but I guess she's made pretty tough.

She snaps open her wings, not to fly, but as an intimidation factor. It works, and for a second Blake just gapes at the sight. In that second Randi launches herself at the agent, ducking kick (which is late) and ends up behind him. She kicks the back of his knee and he leans back, caught off balance. Randi uses this chance to send a flurry of jabs and punches and swipes at pressure points and in a couple the minutes the trained agent is on the ground. I feel something press into my hand. A twenty. Nice.

"What happened?" Coulson says next to me. Huh. Didn't hear or see him approach. His tone suggests he already knows and just wants to hear my verdict.

"Randi took Agent Blake with her bare hands," I say simply. "I told her no weapons; she asked if her hair is a weapon." I grin, and Coulson chuckles.

"It could be," he says, gesturing to her spiky hair. "Agent Valiente." He greets the approaching agent.

"How'd I do?" she asks. The bruise on her cheek is already gone. Jeez. Regeneration as well? What else does she have up her sleeve besides knives?

"Not bad," I tell her. "Ready for round two?"

"What?"

"You keep going till you get beat or surrender," I inform her, _again._ "Didn't you listen when I told you?"

"No, guess not," she shrugs, shaking her wings out as she heads back to the mat. A feather falls, and I pick it up and twirl it between my fingers.


	3. Chapter 3

-Randi Valiente, a few months later-

It's dinnertime. I'm exhausted. Months of training, weapons, hand-to-hand, tactical, it's a lot. All I want to do is sleep.

I can tell Clint is impressed even though he never says anything. When I ask him, all I get is a nod and a, "Not bad."

"Hello," I greet tiredly and set my tray down across from Clint. It's a cheesesteak with a side of rice and broccoli.

"Hey. You going to the roof tonight?" Clint asks. Lately we've been spending a lot of time together, just talking.

"Too tired." I take a bite of cheesesteak.

"Oh, today wasn't that hard," Clint smirks.

"What?!" I exclaim. "I had to fly for_ever_!"

"Hey!" Clint and I turn our heads to see Tony across the cafeteria. "It's Tweety Bird and Legolas!"

"Stark, don't you have somewhere better to be?" Clint groans.

"Nah. I've been banned from the control room." Tony sits next to Clint. I giggle when I see Clint roll his eyes. "But anyway, ol' One-Eye sent me. He wants you to go and detail PEGASUS, 'kay?"

"What? Really? What's there to watch?" Clint asks. Who's Selvig, and what's PEGASUS?

"Remember the Tesseract?" Tony asks. "Yeah. Apparently it's been weird lately," Tony doesn't even bother to whisper.

"Why can't you do it?" Clint asks.

"Guess they don't trust me enough," Tony shrugs.

"What's the Tesseract?" I ask.

"Glowing blue cube," Tony gives. Yeah. _Real_ descriptive.

"I'll explain later," Clint promises me. "Hey Stark, where's Nat been lately?"

Tony says, "Somewhere in Russia, I think. Welp gotta go. Working on a new suit." The genius waves and goes off.

-Clint Barton, Selvig's lab-

"It's been _two_ weeks. Nothing's going to happen," Randi complains, twiddling a knife in her hand. She confuses me sometimes. Sometimes she's exactly her age, like when I explained that PEGASUS is the Potential Energy Group/Alternate Sources/United States and that it is meant for analyzing the Tesseract and potentially dangerous sources of energy, and sometimes she's like a teen fangirl. Yes, I do notice her embarrassment when I take off my shirt to go to bed.

The lab that we're stationed in holds multiple computers, the Tesseract held in machines, and a platform under the rounded part of the ceiling. We've been keeping an eye on Erik Selvig, a scientist. He's clean, as far as I can see. He hasn't tampered with the Tesseract in any way. But, I have my own theory on why the Cube has been acting up.

"Agent Barton, Valiente," Fury's voice sounds in my earpiece. "Report to me." I nudge Randi in a "Let's go" motion and slide down a rope from the platform we've been camping out on. She glides down, landing with a faint tap. I walk alongside Fury, my avian companion following closely behind, listening in. She'd eavesdrop anyway, with those ears of hers. She's already told me that the rustling of my nylon jacket and the silent_ tap_ of my boots bug the hell out of her

"I gave you this detail so you could keep an eye on things," Fury says.

"Well, sir, I see better from a distance," I shoot back mildly.

"Are you seeing anything that might set this thing off?" Fury asks.

"Doctor, it's spiking again," a NASA scientist warns Dr. Selvig. I decide to give Fury my theory.

"No one's come or gone. Selvig's clean. No contacts, no IM's. If there was any tampering, sir, it wasn't at this end." I cross my arms casually. Randi wanders around and pokes at some of the screens, earning a rebuke from Doctor Selvig.

"At this end?" the Director asks. I nod.

"Yeah. The Cube is a doorway to the other end of space, right?" I glance at the Tesseract. "Doors open from both sides." Suddenly the Tesseract sends a blast of blue energy around the huge room, turning it dark. A blue beam shoots towards the platform under the domed ceiling and heat blasts through the room. I hear a rustling and a feather floats past my face. Randi must have gotten startled.

Soldiers approach the newcomer, guns at the ready. A tall, dark-haired figure dressed in black and green robes crouches on the platform. He grins, a malicious gleam in his eye.

"Sir, please put down the spear!" Director Fury commands.

The figure stands and looks at his weapon, and suddenly a blue ball of energy shoots in our direction. I tackle Fury and only hope that Randi gets out of the line of fire. Gunshots echo off the cement walls and the intruder kills the guards with brute force.

I step forward, pistol in my left hand, ready to shoot, but the man swiftly blocks my arm. His grip is too strong for me to break free.

"You have heart," the alien murmurs as his touches my chest with his staff. I expect it to impale me, but instead a blue light glows from it. I feel a buzzing throughout my chest and a strange detached sensation envelopes my mind. My attacker relaxes his position and I command my arm to shoot. Instead, my hand re-holsters the gun. I'm confused. What just happened?

My legs stand, waiting for another command, while my mind screams for Randi to get away. I can see her, out of the corner of my eye, hiding behind a set of now-melted computers. The enemy doesn't see her, luckily, but is taking over the surviving agents. Their eyes are turning inky black, then an electric blue. Did mine do that?

"Please don't, I still need that," the long-haired man commands with a slight accent. Fury stands up with a briefcase, a specialized, teched-up briefcase designed to hold the Tesseract. He doesn't turn around.

"This doesn't have to get any messier," Fury warns.

"Of course it does. I've come too far for anything else," the man says and finally introduces himself. "I am Loki, of Asgard, and I am burdened with a glorious purpose." Wait, like the legends?

"Loki?" Dr. Selvig voices my trapped thoughts. "Brother of Thor?"

"We have no quarrel with your people," Fury attempts to make peace.

"An ant," Loki says. "Has no quarrel with a boot."

"Are you planning to step on us?" Fury asks angrily.

"I come with glad tidings," Loki says, menacingly cheery. "Of a world made free."

Fury's expression becomes grave. "Free of what?"

"Freedom," Loki says with confidence. "Freedom is life's great lie. Once you accept that," – The god turns around and traps Selvig's mind – "you will know peace."

"Yeah, you say peace," Fury stalls. The energy in the room is nearly tangible. I look up at the ceiling, where the energy has collected into a malignant mass. "I kind of think you mean the other thing."

Without permission, my mouth begins to move. "Sir, Director Fury is stalling. This place is about to blow," My voice tells my new commander. "Drop a hundred feet of rock. He means to bury us." I look at Fury, attempting to send telepathic messages to him.

"Like the pharaohs of old," Fury shoots back. The now mind-controlled Dr. Selvig walks over to one of the few working computers.

"He's right," Selvig confirms. "The portal is collapsing on itself. You've got maybe two minutes before this goes critical." Loki turns to me abruptly.

"Drop him," he commands. My arm swings up and my finger squeeze the trigger. But I manage just a tiny bit of control and I aim at the thickest part of Fury's bulletproof vest. When he falls Loki nudges my mind and I pick up the briefcase. The other agents escort us to the cars waiting outside.

-Randi Valiente-

Oh shit. What the hell . . . I shake my head. I'll have to find out later, because my main goal now is to get the fuck out of here. I dash to where Clint and that Loki guy went but duck when I hear gunshots. I whip around the corner to see Loki riding in the back of a runaway jeep and Agent Maria Hill jumping into another car.

"Wait!" I shout. "Agent Randi Valiente!" I exclaim when she points her gun at me. She nods quickly and continues strapping herself into her car.

"You can fly faster than this hunk of metal. Follow them," Agent Hill orders. I take off and soon I'm within a hundred feet of Clint's truck. Loki looks ridiculous, jostling about in the back of the truck.

My amusement turns to adrenaline-lined alertness when Loki points his spear at me and shoots a blue ball at my way. I dodge it within a few inches, ending up too low to the ground for comfort. The next shot he takes at me misses and obliterates the car behind me.

A heavy, low rumbling sound distracts me. It starts far off and then moves faster and faster like a drumroll. My blood is pure adrenaline when I realize that the sound is the portal collapsing. I can hear everything and see every detail while the world caves in around me, from the falling rocks to the tire tracks in the dust. Chunks of ceiling start to fall, and I lose sight of Loki. I can only hope Clint survives the ordeal while I take cover.

Luckily the rocks formed a bit of an arch above me, and a tiny opening allows me to slip through. I find Agent Hill freeing herself from her trapped car.

"Director," she speaks into her walkie talkie. "Director Fury, do you copy?" She nods to me as I approach.

Fury's voice comes back to us, static-y but still there. "The Tesseract is with a hostile force. I have men down. Hill? Is Agent Valiente with you?"

"A lot of men still under," Agent Hill speaks back. "I have Agent Valiente with me. I don't know how many survivors."

"Sound a general call. I want every living soul not needing rescue looking for that briefcase," fury orders.

"Roger that," Agent Hill radios back. Way to be cliché.

"Coulson, get back to base," Fury orders. Oh, so he did survive. "This is a level seven. As of right now, we are at war."

"What do we do?" Coulson's voice echoes all our thoughts. We get no answer.

4


	4. Chapter 4

-Randi Valiente-

In the evening once everything is sort of settled, I'm helping clear away debris and worrying about Clint when my phone buzzes. I instinctively drop a piece of debris and grab my phone. I squint against the bright backlight.

_Find Coulson,_ it says. Alrighty then.

I find Coulson helping organize search parties, and I throw rocks in the air until he's done.

"Ready? We're going to Stark's tower," Coulson tells me. "Fury wants you in my sight until further notice." Damn.

"Why?" I ask belligerently. It's like I'm on a leash.

"We'll need Stark's help, and it's for safety." Coulson and I hop into an SUV. I'd prefer to fly, but whatever.

When we near Tony's tower with the huge STARK lit up, I see a red and gold speck land on a balcony, and the speck begins to walk down a path. Machines take off the armor to reveal Tony. Coulson pulls out his cell phone and we stride inside.

The elevator takes us up the skyscraper. "Stark, we need to talk," Coulson says to the phone's front-facing camera. Tony's face appears on the screen.

"You have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark. Please leave a message," he says. I giggle, but Coulson's stern gaze makes me swallow them.

"This is urgent," Coulson says.

"Then leave it urgently," Tony says, but the elevator stops and the doors open. Tony looks surprised. "Security breach!"

"Mr. Stark," Coulson greets soberly.

"Hi Tony!" I wave, and then introduce myself to the red-haired lady with him. "Hey, I'm Randi."

"Phil! Come on in!" she says, then to me, "Hi! I'm Pepper Potts. Call me Pepper." We shake hands.

"We can't stay," Coulson decides.

"Uh, his first name is Agent," Tony says and I step into the huge room.

"Come on in, we're celebrating," Pepper says friendly.

"Which is why they can't stay," Tony gives a bit of a pout. I stick my tongue out at him and to my surprise he sticks his right back. I sneer at him playfully.

"We need you to look this over as soon as possible." Coulson hands Tony a file, which refuses.

"I don't like to be handed things," Tony keeps hold on his wine glass.

"It's alright, because," Pepper takes the file. She must be the peacekeeper around here. "I love to be handed things. So, let's trade." She passes her wine glass to me and takes Coulson's file, at the same time taking Tony's glass and handing him the file. "Thank you."

I sip the drink. Nice. Champagne. I wander around the room while Tony and Pepper and Coulson talk, and I half-listen.

"Official consulting hours are between eight and five every other . . .Thursday," Tony quips.

"This isn't a consultation," Coulson seems annoyed.

"Is this about the Avengers?" Pepper asks, then covers. "Which I know nothing about."

Tony scoffs. "The Avengers initiative was scrapped, I thought. And I didn't even qualify."

"I didn't know that either," Pepper says. I'm right there with her, except I haven't any idea what the Avengers Initiative is about.

"Yeah. Apparently I'm volatile, self-obsessed, don't play well with others," Tony walks over to a bunch of screens.

Pepper dips her head in assent. "That I did know."

"This isn't about personality profiles anymore," Agent Coulson is stern.

"Whatever," Tony says. "Miss Potts, got a second?" Pepper excuses herself and walks over to Tony.

I sip the drink while Tony and Pepper talk quietly. Nice. Champagne. I wander around the room.

"What's all this?" Pepper asks.

"This is . . ." Tony pauses and I look back to see him flick his hand on the file's screen, and suddenly a bunch of profiles fill the air in holograms and glass screens. Wow. Even mine is there, plus a few others. I quickly scan them into my brain, memorizing some details about each but skipping Tony's. I know enough about him.

Agent Natasha Romanoff, or Black Widow, is Russian. She was brought into SHIELD by Agent Clint Barton, after he was sent on a mission to kill her. The redhead is trained in nearly every type of combat you can think of; on her wrists are tasers called "Widow's Bites". I make a mental note to stay away from those when I see them in action in the small clip from a security camera.

Steven Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, was born before World War II like me but received a Super Soldier Serum and "Vita-Rays". They created what he is now, literally a super soldier. Grainy video clips show him from I'm guessing World War II, carrying around a ridiculous, completely obvious star-spangled shield.

I raise my eyebrows when I watch the Hulk flip and throw cars with ease. When not angry, the Hulk becomes Dr. Bruce Banner. Banner became this way after a mix up with gamma radiation, the screen says.

At first I think the man in the next screen is being electrocuted until I see the hammer. What an odd weapon. "Thor" is his name, and next to that is "Asgardian". Wait, he's Loki's brother? Oh yeah. Selvig said that at the lab. But why's he on the good side?

Then I see Clint's profile. The fear I feel for my . . . for my friend aches my heart. What's Loki doing to him, what's Loki making him do? My brain can't, or won't, process the thought.

"Wow," Pepper raises her eyebrows. "I'm going to take the jet to DC tonight. You have a _lot_ of homework."

Well, what if I didn't?" Tony tries to get out of reading.

"If you didn't?" Pepper asks incredulously.

"Yeah."

"You mean if you finished?" Pepper asks. Tony shrugs. "Well then . . ." Pepper leans close to Tony and whispers something in his ear. My cheeks turn red and Coulson look away awkwardly.

"Square deal. It's the last date," Tony says, and he and Pepper share a long kiss. I cough.

"Work hard," Pepper smiles and leaves. Coulson nods at me for us to leave.

"Thanks for the drink, Tony," I say and set the now empty glass on the clear coffee table. He mumbles a, "Mmhmm" and plays around with the holograms.

-Randi Valiente-

Agent Romanoff and a man, who I guess to be James Barnes, talk quietly to each other while I stand awkwardly to the side. We're waiting for Coulson to get back with Steve Rogers. The ship hums under my feet. Agent Romanoff informed me it is called a helicarrier. Now _that _sounded weird to me. Guess they didn't have those during my time.

"Agent Valiente," Romanoff calls, and detaches herself from Barnes. "They've arrived." She leads me outside onto the deck, where a quinjet has landed.

Coulson and another man, dressed in a blue-green flannel shirt and dark brown pants and a brown leather jacket, looks around the base. We approach them and Coulson goes inside.

"Hi, Steve, Steve Rogers," the man introduces himself, extending his hand. His eyes flick for a second to my wings. I don't bother to hide them anymore.

"Hey, Randi Valiente," I shake his hand. I look in wonder at the man who is from my real time period. It's strange how different we are. "I've heard a bit about you."

"Same here. Coulson was talking about you on the way over," Rogers tells me. "So you're from my era, huh?"

"Yeah. Don't have any memory of it though," I say. Rogers nods.

"There was quite the buzz around here, finding you in the ice," Romanoff talks with him. "I thought Coulson was gonna swoon. Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?"

"Trading cards?" Steve Rogers asks.

"They're vintage. He's very proud," Romanoff smirks. Rogers catches the eye of a nervous-looking man trying to avoid the workers, who are tying down any loose aircrafts or supplies.

"Dr. Banner," Steve shakes the man's hand.

"Oh yeah, hi," Dr. Banner says. "They told me you'd be coming."

"Word is you can find the Cube," Steve says politely. He doesn't mention the Hulk.

"Is that the only word on me?" Dr. Banner asks cautiously.

"Only word I care about," Steve reassures the nervous doctor.

"Yeah. Must be strange for you, all this," Banner gestures to the hustle and bustle around the deck.

"Well, this is actually kind of familiar," Steve says. Oh yeah. He was in the army. Of course it's familiar to him. Romanoff steps forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you might want to step inside in a minute," she suggests. "It's gonna get a little hard to breathe." Ha, not for me. Then the deck begins vibrating underneath our feet.

"Is this a submarine?" Steve asks. I peek over the edge of the deck.

"Really? They wanted me in a submerged pressurized metal container?" Bruce expresses disbelief. Then whirring noises fill my eardrums and, looking over the side, a huge, and I mean huge, turbine surfaces out of the water, creating sea spray that makes my wings glitter. I can only assume there are more when I feel the helicarrier rise up into the air.

"Oh no, this is much worse," Dr. Banner chuckles.

"I'm going for a quick flight," I tell Agent Romanoff. She raises her eyebrow suspiciously.

"Stay in view," she orders.

"Yep." And with that I'm off. Where else could I go anyway?

-Clint Barton-

This is nothing I was ever trained for, this . . . this mind game, where I am a puppet of a malevolent god. Nothing can prepare you for this, not all the martial arts training, and not all the psychology classes in the world. Nothing.

But you can prepare for the hunger and physical pain. I haven't eaten since the morning of Loki's arrival, a few days ago. Loki has kept me up and on my feet ever since he took my mind.

To make matters worse, I don't even know what's happening to the rest of SHIELD. Loki told me part of his plan. It's what I feared since I joined SHIELD: I am to take down the base, or what Loki called the "flying fortress". I don't know when; my slave driver hasn't told me anything yet, but he'll force me to do it no matter how much I fight.

I promise myself to put an arrow through Loki's eye socket when the time comes.

-Randi Valiente-

I hang near Coulson while I wait for orders, wings fanning slightly to cool off. He's talking to Steve about his "vintage trading cards". I'm about to facepalm with embarrassment when one of the agents speaks up.

"We've got a hit. Sixty-seven percent match. Weight cross match, seventy-nine percent." A picture of Loki through a security camera appears on the screen.

"Location?" Coulson asks, looking at the screen.

"Stuttgart, Germany," the agent informs us. "Twenty-eight, Konigstrasse. He's not exactly hiding."

"Captain," Fury calls. "You're up."

5


End file.
